


The Upper Room

by MusingMegs



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusingMegs/pseuds/MusingMegs
Summary: The empty upper room smells musty. Flecks of dust mark the air as she moves through the room with purpose. Martha throws open the drapes, letting the sun into the chamber for the first time since that last night He was there.Martha of Bethany finds her place among the disicples.
Kudos: 4





	The Upper Room

The empty upper room smells musty. Flecks of dust mark the air as she moves through the room with purpose. Martha throws open the drapes, letting the sun into the chamber for the first time since that last night He was there. All other preparations had been done in the dimness of oil lamps. She takes a moment to peer over the sill, looking at the children in the alley below. They are playing with dried palm leaves, chasing each other with the spiny branches, waving them at each other. Their laughter fills the air, imbuing it with a feeling of hope, and wonder. She then stops, shakes her head, and smiles. There is still work to be done.

The eleven go out into the city, and spread the teachings of Jesus. They sing, and preach and heal the sick. Martha spends her days wielding a broom, a mop bucket, and a basket for wood. Her hands are not covered with oil for healing, but rather flour for bread. This building is now their central hub, and it must be kept in order, and turned into a home, even though the world still turns around them. She presses mugs of hot broth into their hands, and leaves plates of bread at their elbows when they come back from the Temple, exhausted from the preaching in the courts, slumped against cushions on the floors. 

It is John who she worries about the most. Stick thin already, with bulging eyes, and hair that has lost its luster, he seems more withdrawn, more subdued then he has it in the past. Still, he pushes himself to the limit, going with Peter, and Andrew, and Phillip to preach daily. Surprisingly, it is Lazarus who is able to connect with John. She sees them talking quietly into the night, John’s low raspy voice interspersed with Lazarus’s musical sounding one. When she wakes that first morning, and sees them shivering on the mats, her mind turns quickly. That afternoon, while the supper is on the fire, she digs through trunks of polished oak, scented with cedar and lavender buds, and finds the woolen blankets that she made last winter. That evening it rains. John comes in, damp from the night rain, and warms his hands over the fire. When he turns to his sleeping corner, where his straw mat is rolled up, he smiles at the sight of the blue blanket folded on top of it.

She selects the fish from the market early in the morning and grills it to perfection with pepper from Aleppo, rosemary and sage, fresh pressed olive oil that was stored in large clay jugs. She prepares a salad too, with arugula and figs, puts it into the pretty dish that Mary had painted with a blue design.

It is that evening, before supper that Jesus appears again to the disciples. Dazzling and almost luminescent, it still makes her catch her breath, though she had seen the empty tomb, the crumpled wrappings, heard what her sister and the other Mary have said about seeing Him in the garden. He speaks and she listens, quietly, in the background, her hands tying up herbs from the market to dry in the rafters upstairs. 

She has not chosen the better part, after all. 

It takes a moment to realize that Jesus is speaking to her.

“May I have a piece of broiled fish?”

Martha hurriedly selects a largish chunk, and places it on a thin straw mat she used for serving. He takes the fish, and pops it in his mouth, grease-catching at his lower lip and making it shine. She fumbled for a napkin, and hands it to him, tries not to gape as Thomas did, at the marks in his hands.

His face crinkles a bit at the edges. She thinks that she sees him grin in pleasure, and the look in his eyes seems warm and happy.

“Martha?”

“Yes, Lord?” She blushes.

His eyes shine blue in the firelight. “Thank you”


End file.
